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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29085831">Stoking the Flames</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/elemsee/pseuds/elemsee'>elemsee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Assassin's Creed - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, The campfire scene made me feel things</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:27:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,482</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29085831</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/elemsee/pseuds/elemsee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, it isn't the comforting warmth of the fire crackling ablaze in front of them, nor is it the way the glow of said fire illuminates his features as if deliberately showcasing them to her. No, instead it's something deep within Eivor, something she cannot quite explain.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eivor/Basim Ibn Ishaq</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stoking the Flames</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Dedicated to Anli, my dear friend, enabler and fellow Basimp. May our friendship forever be as unwavering as Sigurd's self-belief.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the end, it isn't the comforting warmth of the fire crackling ablaze in front of them, nor is it the way the glow of said fire illuminates his features as if deliberately showcasing them to her. No, instead it's something deep within Eivor, something she cannot quite explain — her heart tells her it's simply a longing to provide succor and comfort to a man she cares for, a man whom she's admittedly been seeing less as a platonic travel companion and more as a possible love interest the more time they spend together.</p><p> </p><p>But her head? Her head is a different matter entirely. There's a voice there, coaxing her into a fiery need to make this man come undone by her hand. It wants her to dominate, make him writhe and beg beneath her, make him apologetic for daring to exist anywhere near her. The voice is somewhat distant, almost unintelligible as though she's hearing it from underwater. It doesn't sound like her. Eivor swears it's Odin's voice, but typically he only visits her in dreams and visions, and this is not either of those times. It doesn't make sense, she doesn't claim to understand, but in the end a part of her feels as though her body is moving to another's commands, and she's becoming increasingly helpless to fight it.</p><p> </p><p>Basim is slumped forward slightly, forearms resting atop his knees, looking less like the calculated warrior he portrays on the battlefield and more like a shattered, heartbroken father of a dead son. His eyes stare forward at the campfire, awash of all the years of pain and loss. Eivor isn't quite sure just how many years it's been, but Basim's pain sounds fresh and raw. She couldn't possibly claim to understand the loss of a child, but she <em>does</em> understand loss, owing to being someone who has suffered such.</p><p> </p><p>The voice in Eivor's head continues to fight to be heard, demanding and aggressive but she shakes it off, like fallen snow from her shoulders on a winter's day in Rygjafylke. As she moves over to close the gap between them, perching herself next to him so close that the tips of their shoulders are touching, Basim's gaze finally shifts to meet hers and it tugs at her heartstrings. The gentleness of her affection for this man prevails. The fiery voice quietens, but it hasn't been without a fight.</p><p> </p><p><em>He took all I had</em>, he had said of the man who'd stolen his son away. <em>All I had. </em>She wonders if deep down Basim knows how much else he truly has. Hytham loves him, that much is clear, and it doesn't take a genius to see the hero worship in that young man's eyes whenever the two of them stand in the same room together. Sigurd idolises him, and while Eivor knows her brother is generally not an openly affectionate man, his willingness to follow Basim into battle if necessary is startlingly clear. For a headstrong man like Sigurd, allowing someone else to handle his reins is a declaration of love if ever there was one. </p><p> </p><p>And while all of this would never be enough to replace the son that Basim should have been able to watch grow up, she wonders if his tunnel vision of grief is so severe that it prevents him from truly comprehending the pillars of strength that surround him.</p><p> </p><p>"Basim." Eivor's voice pierces the silence between them, her gruff timbre even gruffer than usual owing to the smoke of the campfire that burns her throat. </p><p> </p><p>His gaze is as observant as ever, drinking in the features of her face as though he's utterly desperate to know whether or not her intentions are true. "Eivor, I must apologise. I have... burdened you with more than is necessary." </p><p> </p><p>Eivor thinks of the children back at Ravensthorpe, how often their raucous laughter fills the air as they fast follow each other's footsteps into mischief. She wonders how it must feel to see the <em>livsglede</em> in the bright eyes of a child and wish desperately that your own could still experience that same joy. </p><p> </p><p>She misses her parents. The pain is more of an occasional dull ache now compared to the constant breathtaking sharpness it once was, but either way she knows better than to give too much focus to the wound that she knows won't ever properly heal. </p><p> </p><p>"You are a fine warrior, Basim, and a fine man to boot. But a true warrior's strength is in camaraderie among their fellow men. Do not be afraid to share your burdens with those who care for you. We will help you carry them."</p><p> </p><p>The two share a look as Eivor's words dissipate into the night air: a look of desire for one another, a look they've never shared before. It's Basim who is brave enough to seize the opportunity that their eyes will to manifest before them. He surges forward suddenly, pressing his lips to Eivor's as though the drengr's uncharacteristically honeyed tones have startled something wide awake within the assassin's being. There is no gentle start; tongues and teeth clash as he seeks reverie in her kiss, almost as though he wishes nothing more than to drown his sorrows in the oceans of his unsated lust. </p><p> </p><p>Eivor clasps her hands around the back of Basim's neck, leaning into this moment with him as naturally as breathing, as though he is not some mystery who wandered into her life only some short months ago but instead an ancient soul she's been entwined with for centuries. The warmth of his skin against her palms reminds her that he is not as cold as he deliberately allows himself to appear to the outside world. A Hidden One he may be, but Basim Ibn Ishaq is still just a man with a beating heart underneath those robes.</p><p> </p><p>Basim pulls Eivor into his lap with ease, and she cannot help but moan at his sudden show of strength. He handles her as he handles the curved blade he wields in battle, adept and with just that certain edge of cockiness. She is far from his first and he wants her to know it. His fingers trace up every notch of her spine, so gracefully, so softly that a part of her cannot quite believe that this is the same man who could expertly render another human being lifeless with a single flick of his wrist.</p><p> </p><p>She rocks her hips eagerly against his, emitting a low groan at the feeling of his obvious arousal underneath her. He immediately mirrors her movement, both hands slipping downwards to grip tightly at her waist as he presses her firmly onto his lap, and the throaty growl he emits against her lips is equal parts tantalising and ominous. Eivor is far too willing to let this man claim her, finds it far too easy to ignore Odin's increasingly aggressive monologue hissing at her ear. She can't quite figure out if she should be concerned or not. </p><p> </p><p>It's the sudden noisy rumble of a snore from barely a few feet away that forces them both back into harsh reality, into the gutting realisation that they aren't alone here. The silent promises pressed into her skin with the caresses of his weathered fingers would have to wait. They pull apart reluctantly, conceding with shaky breaths and pounding hearts, silently cursing the night sky. Basim leans forward, brushing his nose against the curve of Eivor's collarbone before planting a slow, open mouthed kiss against the exposed skin. Eivor emits a sigh, feeling more tightly wound than ever, her entire body thrumming with an energy that she firmly believes can only be grounded by his touch. For half a second Eivor entertains the notion of riding off into the night with him, allowing them to stoke the fires of their newly discovered passions undisturbed. But there is a time for everything, she muses, and the fates have clearly decided this is not the time.</p><p> </p><p>She removes herself from her place on Basim's lap, his skillful hands supportive and gentle as they assist her in standing up. This entire evening has shown Eivor a side of this man that she is sure will be locked away again come morning, and a part of her is already mourning it so. "We should take rest, I think. Tomorrow's battle awaits us."</p><p> </p><p>"Indeed." Basim's tone is regretful, as though he's making a valiant attempt to hold back all the words he wants to say. "Rest well, my dear Wolf-Kissed."</p><p> </p><p>Once Eivor takes to bed it doesn't take long for her to lose herself in misty broken dreams, of fierce bloody battles, of ravens hungrily circling mares and wolves. Odin's tongue whispers heavily against her ear, aggressive and nonsensical riddles, his words leaving her with more questions than answers when she finally wakes with the next day's sunrise.</p>
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